


Shadows

by Raven_Ehtar



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, before canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Ehtar/pseuds/Raven_Ehtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L has B lead him up to his room, then has him spend the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've written anything explicit... but I haven't done L/B yet, so what the hell?

When L had asked him to lead him up to his rooms, B hadn’t given it much thought. It was one of the rare times the great detective had deigned to visit the Wammy House, and B was too exhilarated just being near him to question it. He didn’t think of the peculiarity of L asking for an escort to the room he always slept in when visiting, and knew how to get to. He didn’t note the look Quillish Wammy gave them as the two young men, one a perfect echo of the other, drifted over the drawing room threshold and out of sight. 

Beyond led him up the stairs, near the top of the ancient building where L’s rooms were, far from the rest of the orphanage’s inhabitants where he preferred to sleep and to work. He was a little startled when the young detective indicated that he should precede him into the room, but obeyed, thinking perhaps that L meant to bestow some special knowledge or favor on him. To an extent, he was right. L followed close on his heels and B heard the door close, and then the key turned in the lock. Still, he was not suspicious, for L often locked his door. It was his habit, and his prerogative. The lights were off, and the elder man strode past him to pull the curtains closed, shutting out the view of the grounds and the little, failing light that came in through the dirty pane. The room was plunged into inky blackness, in which the form of L seemed to float, a slightly darker patch within it. 

That darker patch approached B, and he held his ground, curious but not alarmed. L’s habits were odd, eccentric, and B knew that better than anyone, he who had dedicated so much of his time to the study and mimicry of them. So he stood still and watched, waiting as L came close, stopped less than a foot in front of him and stared intently into B’s face. For minutes they stood that way, neither moving nor speaking, until B’s back and legs began to ache with unaccustomed stillness. Finally, L raised his hands and settled them on B’s shoulders and pressed him back, forcing him to take a step backward, then another, and another.

It was then that B decided that L’s behavior was peculiar. All else could be explained by L’s personality, but to lay hands on someone was strange for him. Personal space didn’t seem to exist for him, he could and did get right into one’s ‘bubble’ frequently, but when it came to physical contact, that was a boundary seldom crossed. By putting his hands on B, he was breaking one of his own most sacred rules.

When his back thumped lightly against the rough boards of the attic room, and the shadowy outline of L came forward, close, close, closer until his lips were pressed against his own, B’s whole sense of reality seemed to slip, coming askew.

L’s mouth was so sweet. Sweet with the taste of all the confectionaries he had consumed, sweet in its softness, sweet in all of its apologetic eagerness.

B was shocked, but not frozen. His was the kind of surprise that had him responding, returning the kiss L was forcing upon him before he could consider it, almost before he even realized that the pressure against his lips was L. But while it was pure surprise that had his mouth moving against L’s, it was a flutter excitement, a euphoria that kept him there. He deepened the caress, jaws parting to welcome the invading tongue, his teeth nipping at the greedy lips. L sighed at the treatment, and pressed closer.

His hands wandered, searching B’s body, his smooth palms and sharp nails finding those places with instinctive ease that made his blood pound, stroking, caressing and tracing by turns. 

B had only ever shared brief kisses before, a clasping of limbs here and there, he could boast no real experience with what was happening now. His body was sensitive. He never thought to have been in this kind of situation with L, his mentor, the man he idolized. He fairly trembled with the apprehension and desire.

By the time those spider-like hands crept down to his waistband, worked loose the button and fly of his jeans and insinuated themselves inside, B was already hardening. He gasped as the cool, long fingers wrapped about him. Gasped into that sweet mouth, drawing in more of the forbidden saccharinity until it overwhelmed his senses. Through the rising mists he opened his eyes, to see the source of the taste that danced on his tongue, the pressure against his bones, the warm strokes in his jeans. L barely be seen in the darkness, a soft, muzzy outline of a man that might have been anyone, may even have been the shadows themselves, gathered together and come to passionate life. 

L pulled back, his hands stilling. B could make out only one eye, the smooth curve of a cheek, the suggestion of his mussed hair that melted into the darkness surrounding them. There was movement, the possibility of a smile, and then the outline before him dipped down. He felt the front of his jeans parting, the warmth of a breath against bare flesh an instant before full realization came to him, and then sudden, soft, _warm_ sweetness engulfed him. B gasped, panted, his legs trembled. It was so much, almost too much to take already, that tight warmth around him, sucking him, the talented tongue so recently sliding against his own now swirling around his tip, lapping along his length, the long fingers and hands clutching at his legs, his buttocks, pulling him closer, deeper. 

He twisted his fingers in L’s hair, fighting the urge to pull him closer, to thrust heedlessly as he wanted to. With his head thrown back and limbs shaking, B groaned deep in his throat as wave after wave washed over him. The need to move overrode his control once, but received no protest. Rather there was a squeeze from the hands on the backs of his thighs, almost encouraging him. He made a small sound, half questioning, half pleading, and was replied with a sharp tug. Carefully, slowly, hardly believing what it was he was doing or with whom, B began to thrust into L’s mouth, his own falling open to pant loudly.

When L’s mouth was taken away B couldn’t help the small whimper of protest that escaped him. L stood, wreathed in shadow and hard to see, but his expression might have been flustered. The shadow man took hold of B’s hand and guided it down, forward, until his fingertips brushed straining denim, and the shadows grunted. B was stunned, but it was the first time he’d felt another’s arousal, either man’s or woman’s. It was surreal to have such undeniable proof of someone else’s desire in his hands. Fascinated, he palmed the bulge, the metallic zipper pressing against his hand. The clothed arousal jerked into his hand with a groan of encouragement uttering from L’s mouth. B rubbed, up and down, through the constraining clothing, and L leaned into him, his head coming to rest against the wall beside his own. B could hear his every breath, every gasp and swallowed groan while he was there. 

It wasn’t enough, B decided. He had to hear more, to feel more, _more_. He struggled a moment with the button and zipper of L’s jeans, but once released his ready erection sprang free. B took hold of it and sighed, his own arousal twitching at the feel of L in his hand. He stroked the older man, whose groans increased, hunching his shoulders and pressing into B’s hand. Smooth, warm skin sleeved an incredible hardness, so hot it felt like it should scald B’s filled hand, and he pulled at it, pumped hard until L trembled as much as he did. He took almost as much pleasure hearing L’s sounds against his ear, feeling the damp breath of his pants wash against his throat as he was getting blown. Soon L began thrusting his hips in time with B’s caresses, his whole body coming closer to B’s until they were flush, B pinned between the unyielding wall and L’s overheated, rocking body. His own erection became pinned, and he moaned unashamed at the unguided friction of L’s thrusts. 

Their mouths caught each other again, need and mounting pleasure making them less precise. L’s mouth was still sweet, but now with a hint of iron, of salt, the dichotomy of the flavors only enhancing each of them.

Inspired, B readjusted his grip so he held them both in his fist, their erections pressing together, pumped in time by his fingers. L released his mouth only to clamp his teeth into the flesh where B’s shoulder met his throat. He arched his back, levering off the wall into L’s pressing body, the pain sharpening his lust to a painful point.

And it still wasn’t enough. He needed _more_. He needed L closer, needed their flesh to meld, needed this distance and this space gone. 

“L…” he groaned, unable to say more, but used his free hand to pull L closer to him. 

Whether he understood B’s need or simply took the inarticulate plea as a cue to further his own agenda, L pulled back, forced B’s hand away long enough to peel away first his and then B’s shirt off, the two tops tossed away to a little crumpled white heap on the floor. He pulled B away from the wall, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss so violent it barely warranted such a gentle sounding name; it was all need and teeth and greed. B tried to keep up, far too far gone to question the whys or wonder at the reality. He was a being of wants, now, of lusts whose only goal was gratification. 

He didn’t notice he was being steered, guided across the room until the edge of the bed pressed the backs of his knees, and he sat down heavily with surprise, nearly pulling L down on top of him. L pressed him back, then stripped him until he lay completely nude atop the elder man’s blankets. For a moment he was very glad for the concealing darkness that clothed them. The sound of shifting fabric told him that L was removing what remained of his own clothes as well, an assumption that was confirmed when naked skin brushed and then pressed against him as L crawled over him. The weight of L on top of him, slight as it was, forcing him into the mattress when he ground himself against B made his blood pound all the harder, and his hips lifted, his back arched without consultation from his brain, which seemed very distant now. 

L had always been a man he looked up to, who he tried to imitate and become more like himself; in behavior, in thought, in deed. The others taunted him for the extremes he pushed himself to in that task, the obsessiveness of it. Late nights of study, longer nights reading over L’s cases, dressing like him, moving like him, talking like him, eating like him, all of it was laughed at, when he _knew_ any of them would give blood for L’s approval or even just a look their way. 

Well, taunt all they want, it was he L had decided to spend the night with, it was he who now got to taste him, hear him, feel him, oh _gods_ feel him!

L had worked his way between B’s legs, forcing them apart so he could lay between them, which B was all too willing to allow. The heat between them only grew, the salt tang of sweat hanging in the air like a fog. B didn’t notice where L’s hands, his fingers had gotten to until they were pressing against him, then slipping inside, slicked with something. He groaned through clenched teeth. The penetration bordered on painful, but it made them closer, and he _needed_ closer, and the pain only made his pleasure sharper, like the salt sweat making the sweet of L’s mouth more delicious.

In the darkness B brought his hands up to feel L’s face. While the elder man worked his fingers inside him, B traced the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, across his brow, the featherings of lashes that brushed his fingers when he blinked. It was a face he knew well, was mirrored in his own, hidden from him in the darkness. Through the haze of lust, pleasure and waning pain, B wondered why it was L preferred this pitch darkness? He was notoriously narcissistic, wouldn’t he prefer to see B, to feel like he spent these most intimate moments with a doppelganger? 

In a shuttered part of his mind, B knew himself to be grateful for the blackness. In the dark one’s eyes were useless, you had to depend on the other senses: sound, smell, taste and touch. In the dark, B’s eyes were useless. There was no hint of the flaming label hanging over L, revealing his name, when he was due to die. In the dark, B could pretend he was normal. Human.

And what was more human than this?

The fingers left him. B shifted back further up the bed, readying himself. Holding the shadows by a shoulder and the back of the neck, he wrapped his legs around darkness’s waist, craving and tremulous, doubtful but overwhelmingly hungry.

L thrust himself home, and B screamed, the sound of pain and pleasure, salt and sweet, silk and steel all rending themselves to pieces. 

Slowly they worked through the pain, L’s movements languid and rhythmic until B began to move himself in time. From there was only the challenge, again, to become as close as possible, to take in as much of the other man as he could, until there was nothing of himself left. B pressed himself into L, ground his arousal up to graze along his belly, held his shoulder, trembling with exertion in one hand, and cupped the invisible face in the other, his fingers disappearing into a hot, unseen mouth should they wander too close. He sucked L’s other fingers in his turn, tasting iron and sugar, biting the fingertips when they retreated. 

A heat began to gather in the pit of his stomach, to settle heavily in his groin. L’s thrusts began to lose their rhythm, becoming erratic. Pants and whimpers took an edge of desperation, and B clung to L, pulling their bodies flush as they each neared climax. He had to feel as close as was possible, but how much closer could they be? Movements were in time, skin slicked along skin, breathing synchronized and wordless cries were raised in melody, thoughts could not be more in tuned to a single goal… B tugged L down to him, their teeth clashing together, pulling him down, pushing himself up.

Shuddering whiteness, every muscle taught and drawn, there was no telling where one of them began and the other ended, who was L and who was B, where men gave way to shadows, whose breath was whose. 

He hadn’t given much thought to L having him escort him up to his room, and as L lowered himself slowly to the bed beside him, he didn’t think he would be able to for some time. And when he could, there was no knowing when he would bother. 

He’d achieved his goal. He had L’s attention. 

What more could he want?


End file.
